


Gone Child

by ishouldbeworkingrightnow (notjustalittlegirl)



Category: Engelsforstrilogin | The Engelsfors Trilogy - Mats Strandberg & Sara Bergmark Elfgren
Genre: Adopted Children, Angst, Canonical Character Death, Father-Daughter Relationship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-29
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2019-04-14 16:19:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14139807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustalittlegirl/pseuds/ishouldbeworkingrightnow
Summary: Following Viktor's death, Alexander can't seem to find the will to go on.





	Gone Child

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own Engelsforstrilogin, and I am making no money off of this. Please do not sue me, thank you!

Clara wouldn’t meet his eyes anymore. Every time he tried to look at his adopted daughter, she looked down, or left the room, or simply curled up in her chair and buried her face in her arms. Normally, when that happened, he would hear the soft sound of renewed sobs coming from her. 

Maybe that was just as well, because whenever Alexander looked at his daughter he saw his son. 

Alexander knew that he hadn’t been any sort of father that a child would want. Viktor and Clara had deserved better than him, a man who had taken them in but hadn’t known how to interact with a child anymore than he had known what would eventually happen to them. When he saw Adriana with her girls, girls she had only known for around a year but still guided and helped like he should have done for the children he had helped to  _ raise,  _ Alexander wanted to be better. 

He couldn’t be better for Viktor anymore, because Viktor was never coming home. He would never hear him and Clara talking in the middle of the night, he would never find hair gel on the bathroom counter or sneakers on the floor.  

The sweet little boy who had been Viktor Ehrenskiöld was gone. 

The funeral had been three days ago, and three days ago he had stood near the back of the crowd, watching friends surround Clara, support her as her brother was buried. Alexander had kept his stoic, unemotional facade all throughout, the only show of his grief was his fists, clenched tightly in his pockets by his side. 

Adriana, his dear little sister, met his eyes, and he knew that she knew. He knew that she knew how truly devastated he was. 

After the funeral, Clara went home with Minoo and Anna-Karin. Alexander went home alone. His eyes flitted around his house- it couldn’t be called a home, home was back in Stockholm where he had lived with his children- and accidentally caught on a pair of sneakers left on the floor by Viktor at some point. The simple sight of those sneakers- just a pair of shoes that he had probably told Viktor to pick up a million times because  _ for God’s sake, Viktor, you are twenty years old, pick up your fucking shoes _ \- caused Alexander to gasp and nearly fall to the floor as if stabbed. 

He picked up the shoes himself. His eyes went back and forth between his room and Viktor’s, but it wasn’t really a choice. Taking the filthy pair of sneakers with him, not even bothering to take off the black suit he wore to his son’s funeral, Alexander lay down in Viktor’s bed. 

He hadn’t even known that his adopted son had had a specific scent until he was surrounded by it in Viktor’s bed. Clutching Viktor’s pillow to his face, Alexander finally started to cry. 

He couldn’t even remember the last time that he had cried. Probably a long time before he had adopted Viktor and Clara. Maybe even as long ago as the day he burned Adriana. This was so much worse.

If only he had seen, known. If only he had spent more time with Viktor, with Clara, when they were younger. It probably still wouldn’t have saved his son from Walter, but maybe his son would have had a better life. 

The sobs were not slowing, wouldn’t slow for hours. Alexander would spent all night with his face buried in his son’s pillow, and when Adriana arrived in the morning to check on him she would find him that way. 

That had been three days ago.

Clara hadn’t been back home yet. He wondered if she ever would be, or if she had already cleaned out her room and moved in with Minoo and Anna-Karin. Or maybe she had hopped a train back to Stockholm. He really had no idea. Maybe she was just waiting for him to return to Stockholm so she could clear Viktor’s things out of his room and bring them with her to some apartment she was going to get. 

A tap on the door alerted him to Adriana’s presence. His sister had been over around the same time every day to feed him, make sure he was still alive. She had knocked every day, but he never answered. She came inside anyway. 

“Alex, you must eat something.” 

Adriana had left some food on the table in front of him yesterday, but it was untouched. She was looking at him with an expression which was part pity, part sorrow, and part exasperation. He didn’t answer. 

“Alex!” She talked louder this time, but he didn’t respond until another voice joined hers. 

“Pappa,” Clara’s voice was soft as always, but to Alexander it was as loud as a shout. “Pappa, I’ve come to get Viktor’s things. I was going to take them back home. Would you… is there anything that you would like me to leave?” 

“Clara,” he whispered. “Are you really here?”

“Yes,” she said, rocking back and forth as though she wasn’t sure if she wanted to move forward or backwards. “Pappa, you’re frightening me!”

“Clara,” he said again, and then he moved. He jumped out of Viktor’s chair, where he had spent the entire day, and pulled her to his chest. She froze, unsure what to do. She couldn’t remember the last time Alexander had hugged her, but when he didn’t let go right away she seemed to melt into his arms. 

“Oh, Clara,” he whispered. “Let’s go home.” 

She nodded against his chest, and he felt the tears dripping from her eyes soaking his shirt. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope this wasn't too terrible. I guess I just needed something to get me back into the swing of writing...


End file.
